


He's Not So Bad

by BubbleGumLizard



Series: Mystrade NaNoWriMo 2015 [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg adopts a kitten!  Mycroft is not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Not So Bad

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a tiny bit of fluff (prompted by a friend) so that I hit my word goal for the day. I now have 135,000 words written out of a goal of 150,000 words for November. I spent fourteen hours writing today and wrote a total of 14,000 words. Hopefully with tomorrow and Monday I'll be able to make my goal. And then I can collapse in a heap. Just kidding, I have work on Tuesday. :-)
> 
> Enjoy!

“What is that?” Mycroft asked, stopping dead in his tracks and staring at the ball of fluff in Greg’s lap.

“This is Sherrinford,” Greg said, scratching the tiny black kitten behind the ears.

“Sherrinford?” Mycroft asked. “That’s a ridiculous name.”

“Need I remind you of your name? I plan to call him Sherri.”

“’Plan to’? That would imply that little Sherrinford here will be with us for more than the time it takes you to go to a shelter,” Mycroft said, pouring himself a drink and sitting down in his chair.

“A shelter? Why on Earth would I go to a shelter?” Greg asked, looking up at him. “I found him at a crime scene. He was adopted by this very nice old woman who turned out to be the leader of a ring of grandmothers who were dealing drugs. One of her other granny drug dealers murdered her to take control of the group. I have decided that we’re going to keep Sherri.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows at Greg. “Were you planning on having a discussion about this with your husband before you became attached to the little flea magnet?”

“Don’t call him that!” Greg said, lifting Sherrinford to face level and kissing him. “Don’t pay any attention to Daddy Number Two. He’s just cranky after a long day at work.”

Laughing, Mycroft set his drink down and looked at Greg. “’Daddy Number Two’?” he asked.

“Well, since there are two of us, I thought we should be numbered. I don’t know how it works in situations like ours.” Greg frowned, annoyed at Mycroft’s reaction to the situation.

“In situations like ours… Greg, we are not fathers. That is a cat. Not a child.”

Greg stood, glaring at Mycroft. “You have no kindness in your heart, Mycroft Holmes,” he said, cuddling Sherrinford to his chest. “Come on, Sherri, let’s get you some dinner.”

Mycroft stared after him, completely bewildered.

***

Sherrinford settled down in his new home, spending days exploring the large Holmes family home that Greg and Mycroft lived in. He especially enjoyed being in Mycroft’s study, though Mycroft chased him out of the room every time he saw him in there.

One normal day, Mycroft was working at home and had chased Sherrinford out of his office at least six times. He was getting rather cross with the cat, who was growing bigger every day. He was no longer the tiny ball of black fur that Greg had brought home, he had grown into a rather lanky older kitten who liked to slink around without Mycroft noticing him.

Mycroft saw the cat creep into his office, but he was in the middle of writing an email and didn’t have time to worry about the damned cat being where he wasn’t supposed to be. He decided that he would have a talk with Greg about the cat one more time. For some reason, Greg had developed quite an attachment to the cat and refused to consider finding him a more appropriate home.

Mycroft had just finished his email and had turned his attention to another when the door burst open and Sherlock walked in.

“What would you like, dear brother?” Mycroft asked, not looking up from his email. He hated when Sherlock just showed up without so much as a phone call. He didn’t have time for any of Sherlock’s drama today, especially if he was dragging Greg into it again.

“We were working on a case with Lestrade and I wanted to talk to him about it. Is he here?” Sherlock asked, sitting in a chair across Mycroft’s desk from him.

“Fortunately for him, he is not. Now, if only they had invented some way of communicating across distances so you could find out his whereabouts ahead of time. Or were you just yearning for a joyous family reunion?”

Sherlock snorted. “With you? Not likely.”

“Speaking of family, have you met the newest member of our family?” Mycroft asked, noticing Sherrinford creeping out of his hiding place to sniff at Sherlock’s coat.

“What?” Sherlock asked and then looked down at where Mycroft was pointing, jumping when he saw the cat.

“That is Sherrinford Holmes-Lestrade,” Mycroft said, pleased at Sherlock’s reaction. Sherlock was even less fond of cats than Mycroft was.

“Mycroft, he has your eyes,” Sherlock said, nudging Sherrinford with his toe.

Sherrinford jumped back, went rigid, and started hissing with all of the passion he could muster at Sherlock. Sherlock jumped up, surprised by the cat’s behavior. “What did I do?” he asked Mycroft.

“You were simply yourself, brother. Sherrinford is a great judge of character.”

Sherlock sidestepped past the still-hissing cat to the doorway. “He has your temperament too, Mycroft,” Sherlock said before fleeing.

Mycroft chuckled and smiled at Sherrinford, who turned to look at him. Sherlock ducked back in the room to say one last thing and Sherrinford sprung at him, hissing again.

A moment later, Mycroft’s phone chimed.

**That cat is the devil. SH**

Laughing again, Mycroft returned his attention to his work. He didn’t react at all when Sherrinford rubbed against his ankles and feet and he stayed perfectly still when Sherrinford jumped up on the desk and curled up in a bare spot and went to sleep.

When Greg returned home from work that night, he was surprised to see Mycroft in his usual chair with his usual brandy, but instead of his usual book, he was petting a purring Sherrinford, who had curled up in Mycroft’s lap.

“What’s going on here?” Greg asked, looking down at his cold-hearted husband.

Mycroft shrugged. “Sherrinford isn’t a bad sort. He and I agree on a lot of things.”

“You agree with the cat?”

Mycroft nodded. “Mainly on certain people.”

“Ah, so that explains the text I received today from your brother, ranting about why people used to think cats were evil.”

Mycroft chuckled. “All I will say is that I suppose cats aren’t so bad after all.”


End file.
